Stuck with you
by LadyJessYU
Summary: It's another blizzard and Bellamy is stuck with the one person he never wished to see.


**I wrote this months ago but it never felt like the right time to post it. But they are both great and should have some sort of relationship and I cannot stop writing.  
**

* * *

He was fighting his way against the harsh wind, soon-to-be icy snowflakes latching to the fur. Lifting his shoulders as much as he could, he wrapped the coat tightly. When Bellamy had been younger, they would gather all the kids and show Christmas-themed movies. The way Christmas had been celebrated never made much sense to him; it'd seemed like a jumble of many things history had to offer. But it had all looked beautiful – the tree, the lights, the presents, snow… how he'd wanted to know what snow felt like! The moment he had heard the first snowflakes were falling, he rushed out of his tent. It had felt unreal. He had tentatively turned his hands up and a snowflake landed in his palm. Small, cold, delicate and unique. Soon it'd started to melt against his skin. A genuine innocent laugh escaped his throat, the first one in many weeks. That had been the rare moment of serenity. At that moment, he had believed more were to come soon. He had been wrong.

Now he hated it, every fucking snowflake separately. Because they didn't, they wouldn't stop falling. And like everything on the ground, so did the snow quickly start to claim its victims. He caught himself more than once earnestly missing that damn acid fog. The fog would at least come and go. On the bright side (bright being the overstatement of the century), the never-ending winter brought a pause in the preparation for what would be raging tribal wars. Yes, the war may not be killing them yet but the Earth sure was. He would spend hours searching the land for the game. But the animals were better prepared for winter and were nowhere in sight. Today was a good day. Today, Bellamy told Lincoln to return to the camp with a boar while he, feeling lucky, went deeper into the woods towards the Ice Nation's territory.

He fixed his gaze on the horizon and through the eyelashes saw the blizzard approaching, swiftly finding its way between the bare trees. If he didn't find a way to shield himself, he would be as good as dead. He turned left and right looking for the best and nearest hiding place. Not far away, he spotted a cave entrance. Couple of steps in, he tripped and fell, face first. He straightened himself up right away coughing the snow out of his mouth. "Fuck, fuck this-" he managed to spit out between the chatter of his teeth. The blizzard was coming too close, too fast and he was hurrying towards the cave while trying to ignore the cold water slowly dripping down his chest.

The sudden release from the wind constantly whipping his head left him with the rush of dizziness. He leaned against the rock, allowing himself couple of moments of calm. But the water and sweat mixing under the layers of clothes was disturbing his peace.

He moved further into the cave where it was almost warm. Almost. He needed to get rid of the damp clothes. Bellamy had been in that situation before. Only, last time, he didn't bring a change of clothes, now he knew better. First and foremost, he needed a drink. He took a swing out of the flask. Hard liquor coursed through his body, masking the cold in a short instant. The Mount Weather had had surprisingly substantial amounts of alcohol in store and right now Bellamy was glad they chose to use them.

He dumped the bag and the heavy coat on the ground. Having an eerie feeling he was being watched, he whirled around. There was nothing in the deep, dark cave. Gently, he put down the rifle and began disposing of his clothes. "Fucking winter." He muttered again as shivers ran down his entire body. On top of everything, the cut from couple of days ago that wouldn't heal was starting to sting again.

He unbuckled the knife from his belt and dropped it to his feet. As it hit the ground with a thud so did Bellamy. Out of nowhere, a force was twisting his arm, smacking him down. The rocky floor of the cave was jabbing into his back, the knee of his attacker (who held themselves with the aggression of a rabid animal) pushing down on his bare chest, a blade against his neck. He was trying to remember his training with Lincoln. The person who he now figured was a small female looked familiar, but with the long hair shadowing her features, he couldn't tell. However, she surely recognized him and lessened the pressure on his neck.

"Belomi kom Skaikru." she spoke in a low, even tone, "What are you doing here?"

And in that instant, it all clicked. The images of however brief but constantly intense moments appeared and the confirmation of who she was came. "Looking for shelter." he lifted his hands, assuring her he didn't want any trouble, "Just that."

Once his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he could see hers' frantically roaming his face and hands. As she got off of him, a sudden gush of air entering his lungs made every part of him ache. He stood up as graciously as he could. She was still keeping the close eye on him, fighting stance in place. As he reached for the dry shirt, the hold on the weapon tightened visibly.

He forced himself to conceal the unease her presence was bringing. "Relax, Lexa. I'm only getting dressed."

"Heda." he heard over the shuffle of the fabric over his head.

"What?" he asked idly and took another piece of clothing.

"It's Heda." she repeated while tucking the dagger safely away, "Or Commander."

He snorted. "Rumor has it, you won't be one for long."

"Is that what you heard?"

"Yeah." he wiped his forehead, "Is it not the truth?"

"The truth is too complicated to be answered with a simple yes." after a pause, she added, "Or a no."

He shrugged. Whatever it was, one thing was certain – they didn't have to deal with her anymore.

Both uncomfortable with the situation, they got into the strange staring contest. It was clear from the start neither would back down easily. Bellamy crossed his arms to look more menacing. As it went on, he noticed she was different from what he remembered. After that turbulent night with Finn a lifetime ago, he had been watching her closely. Lexa hadn't noticed, or just appeared not to. She had been fierce then. Exactly how he imagined Diana would be (minus the bow) - the goddess of hunt, forest dweller accompanied by her hunting hounds. Goddess of the heathen… even now she looked the part (which mead him hate her even more). Something, however, was amiss. Shoulders a bit slouched; he expected more dominance.

As if reading him assessing her weaknesses, she turned away. "This way."

He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. Should he trust her? It would be sensible not to.

"Relax, Bellamy. If I wanted you dead, you would be."

"Your word has no value to me."

"Then sit here and freeze."

The path she was leading him on was narrow, walls literally closing down. It was suffocating; his body was heating to a dangerous level. The rifle was threatening to slip from his hand.

They eventually reached a wider area illuminated with small fire. It was clear she spent some time there. In a corner was something resembling a cot, a bag, but most importantly food. His mouth instantly started to water and he looked away. "Home sweet home?"

She looked at him, puzzled.

"Nothing." at that moment, his stomach rumbled and he punched it, angered by its betrayal.

She showed no reaction to that and he was grateful for her disinterest.

While Lexa busied herself with something or other, Bellamy got rid of his baggage and sat by the fire. The knife was there, safely tucked under his shirt, rifle by his side. He thought unnecessary to attack. Right now. Instead, he was concentrating on the dancing flames when the desired food he was trying hard not to think about entered his field of vision.

"Eat." Lexa ordered.

Pride prevailing against hunger, he took out the flask and retorted. "I'm good."

"Water?"

"Nope."

She snatched the flask out of his hand just as it was about to touch his lips.

"What the fuck?!" Bellamy sprang up, ready to fight for his personal medicine against another onset of shivers. He pointed the rifle at her.

She froze. She wasn't sure if he would pull the trigger. He wasn't either.

"What you are doing right now is not wise."

"The way I see it - it's two birds with one stone. I get your supplies and my revenge… Blood must have blood. Isn't that your motto?"

She stiffened at his words , "It is." and handed the flask back into him.

He could swear he saw hurt in her eyes. Any other time he wouldn't have felt bad for her, yet somehow he did. He had gone soft and now there was no going back. Hesitantly, he lowered the weapon.

Before he could say something more he heard her mutter under her breath. "Did you just call me stubborn?" he knew some Trigedasleng, however little.

If his knowledge surprised her, she hid it well. "I did."

"What else?"

"Like every Sky person you too are stubborn, irrational and frankly quite crude."

"You forgot loyal." It was meant to be a jab, and it was successful most likely. But also it reminded him of Clarke. He thought he understood why she ran off, but in all honesty he didn't. She wasn't the only one who was being kept up at night by guilt. She should have stayed, not leave him to deal with everything alone. He wasn't the leader they required him to be, not on his own.

Lexa said nothing.

His eyes were closing; he was fighting to keep them open. The crackling of the fire was turning out to be one of the most pleasing sounds. Like everything on Earth, it held some unsettling memories but he was far too tired to dwell on that. No… he couldn't sit idly, not with her a few feet away.

It didn't take him long to become restless. Every now and then he would check if it was safe to go back to the camp. The blizzard was only getting more intense. The dawn was on the horizon and he had a hunch they would be stuck together for at least one more day.

They didn't talk. Even when they were eating, they were doing it alternatingly. Both put a lot of effort in avoiding each other which was hard in such confined space.

"It might take days." She surprised him, leaning against the opposite side of the cave entrance, "You should go back."

He didn't want to listen but the cold was settling in his bones. He knew he needed to move. He was about to leave when, in a swift single motion, she pulled him back. He draw out the knife, the tip of the blade pressing under her ribs. He should have killed her, he had had the perfect opportunity. They stood close, facing each other fully.

There was no distress or anger, only amusement in her eyes. "This again?"

For a moment he thought he might kill her on the spot. One instant movement and he could at least leave a mark mirroring his own. Only when the sound of her clothes ripping from the sharp blade reached his ear, did he realize what he was doing. He stopped but never moved or let the remorse show. The utter lack of reaction on her side was unsettling.

"How are you feeling?" he was hearing strain in her voice, a sure sign he was on the verge of losing his mind. "Are you tired?"

What kind of question was that?! He spent most of the day tracking through heavy snow and then was kicked on the cave floor. He was surprised he hadn't collapsed already. "A bit."

She wrapped her hands around the nape of his neck and pulled him down. Her big, green eyes bore into him. All the while, a hand was feeling his neck then forehead, drawing traces under his eyes (where heavy bags settled some time ago) "Wha-"

"You are unwell." She was no longer looking at him, "Get back inside."

Yes, that must be it. The only logical explanation for his bizarre behavior.

"Do you still have the alcohol?" Once Bellamy fished it out of the bag and handed it to her, she continued, "Sit over there." She pointed to her cot.

At that offer or order, he was starting to think he was in real danger. Despite the piling evidence of her treachery, he obeyed wordlessly.

"Drink this. All of it."

"Why?"

"It will help."

"I figured as much. Why are you helping me?" he was hoping it was help she was offering not some ritual kill.

"Because I do not wish to deal with your rotting corpse."

Suspiciously, he was eying the cup of slimy-looking, dark liquid and the purple berries that were floating in it then held his breath and gulped it down. "Ugh." He shuddered.

"Now take off your shirt."

He could actually feel his eyes grow wide with surprise. "What now?"

"I need to apply alcohol to your skin." She responded, yet her authoritative tone was missing its flare, "That fire inside must be put out before it consumes you."

Bellamy was trying to catch her eye but she was focused on her hands. Her lips pressed tightly as if to keep her from speaking. "Are… are you not-"

She looked up at him and his sense of familiarity turned into one of overwhelming embarrassment.

"I can-" he pointed to the objects she was gripping, "I'll do it myself."

Lexa placed them next to him and retreated.

Bellamy took off his shirt, the task which turned out to be achingly difficult. He was slowly running the cloth over his skin, damping it in the smelly liquor every once and a while. 'God, that's cold!' Only the cut was burning. He let out a sigh. On top of everything the smell was making him lightheaded.

"I believe Clarke is safe."

He froze. Lexa said it so quietly like talking to herself. "Yeah?"

"My scouts informed me not long ago of her whereabouts. She was moving away from the blizzard."

Inexplicably, this information irritated him. He couldn't say if it was because Lexa told him or because of his partial resentment towards Clarke.

"I thought you'd like to know." her back was still turned on him. "You care for her."

He didn't deny it.

"And she cares for you." again, it was not a question.

"I should hope so." after everything they'd been through, it would have had to be something seriously wrong for them not to care. Though, she sure was taking her sweet time away from him and the rest of the hundred (or what little has left of them).

When Lexa turned, she had paint on her face. Not like the one he saw on her or any other Grounder. On each cheek there was a deltoid with a circle and some scribbles around. And a sun-shaped circle was back between her eyes.

"Rest." Lexa gave him the blanket, leaving him to his thoughts.

Quickly, he was lulled into sleep.

Bellamy was roused by the faint sound of rustling. He felt worn out but not cold which was a great improvement. Before even attempting to open his eyes, some sweet smell filled his nostrils. He looked around, searching for the source. It lead him to the hearth, the plume of smoke like a serpent, twisting in the air. Leaning on his elbow, he lifted himself up, searching for Lexa. She was cooped up in the corner, mending her clothes. "Hey." once she looked up, he noted her pale skin, lips unnaturally dark. The paint on her face was gone. "You all right?"

"I should be the one asking you that. You've been gone for a long time."

He sat up and drained a cup of cold water in one go. "Better, I think. What were you doing earlier?" to clarify he made a vague gesture around his face.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Why is that?"

"Because that is how it is." she answered simply.

"Oh, is it because I am 'of the Sky people'?" she might not have got the air quotes but the tone was abundantly clear, "We have different ways, sure but it's not like we're different species, we both come from the same place, speak the same language, live now on the same ground… You don't have to tell me but do not presume I wouldn't understand."

"The moment you left this earth, we stopped being the same. While you were up there, _we_ were living under ground in our own filth. We were abandoned in the place where the mare breathing was killing us. And we prevailed, we rose from the underworld. And then _you_ come back after everything, to claim what we rebuilt. No, we are not the same, we could not be more different."

"So that's why you left us die?"

She stared at him for a long time. Then, with a heavy sigh she answered. "Like I said - two different worlds."

She retreated to the dark side of the cave. They were sitting in silence, the fire was dying.

"When the nights are the longest and the cold refuses to release the grip." she began evenly, like weaving an old wives' tale, "A leader alone must perform her duty and appease the dark spirit. To show respect and gratitude to the one who rules death and darkness because-"

"Because only the dead can be reborn." he continued her thought. Quickly, mesmerized by the story, he leaned forward, "How do you do that?"

"It is specific." he heard her suck in the air before continuing, "When the Moon is at its highest, the leader puts on a long black tunique and marks her face with the symbols of the dark spirit. She stains her lips with the blood more black than the night itself. Then the submerges herself in the river."

The image of what she must have looked like appeared in his mind. A wild child, clad in darkness, gazing at the sky. "That's intense." he spoke without thinking.

"I have performed the rite a number of times."

"And what about that? It smells nice." he pointed to the now faint smoke, genuine interest etched in his voice.

"To chase away the demons. You are very curious."

"Occasionally."

She cracked a smile but it disappeared pretty quickly.

In school, he was taught why nature was the way it was. There were proofs; people had spent centuries explaining the laws of nature. And they had nothing to do with demons, spirits or Gods. Noting supernatural was possible. But he always did prefer the stories of the ancient world and this was something similar.

He got off the bed unsteadily. Pants were loosely hanging around his waist. He must have lost over five pounds in a night.

She too stood up, brushing the dirt off. Her gaze lingered on him. "We'll be leaving soon."

He couldn't figure if she was exasperated or just tired. Either way, she put out the fire and started packing her things and he decided to do the same. He tossed the bag on his back and moved.

They were pacing side by side, only the crunching of the snow beneath their feet disturbing the silence. Why she was walking with him was unclear. But he would be damned if he asked.

He was trying to stomp over a snow dune when she grabbed his wrist. "Wait."

Then he heard it too. A faint crunching. He scanned the area left and right. Nothing. Not even a gush of wind. Suddenly, a whooshing sound; a short spear heading their way. At the same time they both leaped to find cover behind the nearest tree, her pining him against it.

They held their breaths for another attack, but nothing came.

"Are you hurt?" he rasped.

She shook her head.

"That must have been the security measure. We are close to the Ice Nation's territory." since the war was brewing, they made somewhat stable peace with two other clans. The Ice Nation offered and they would have been fools to refuse, "I'll just give the signal to-"

"Don't move." she pushed him back, "They are after me."

"You sure?" his grip around the rifle handle tightened.

Lexa placed fingertips over his hand, careful not to touch the weapon. "The other will hear." she looked up at him, "You run left then towards the camp. I think there's just two of them."

He sighed. "And then what?"

"I get rid of them then stop this before the snow melt."

"Just like that?" he shifted his head from the tree bark, brushing her hair with his cheek,

"Yes."

He closed his eyes. "On three. One… two… three!"

He dashed to the left, no looking back. After around hundred feet he stopped. Buzzing in his ears was making him dizzy. He wasn't at risk anymore (if he ever was). The plan was to go back to the camp. But that was Lexa's plan. He took out the knife and unpinned the safety on the rifle.

He was moving obliquely and it didn't take long to hear the sound of struggle. Soon enough, he spotted them. One dead Grounder and not far away, Lexa fighting another. By the time he got to them, Lexa was down, pushing the weapon away from her attacker's hand. One hand was closing its grip around her neck. Bellamy rushed and smacked the Grounder's head with the rifle butt. He flew to the side, brain splashing on the white surface. The weapon fell from Bellamy's hands. He rested his hands on his knees, desperately trying to catch a breath.

"Do you people ever listen?" Lexa asked, seemingly unfazed by all the blood on her hands and neck.

Something was itching in his throat, maybe all the unsaid and he coughed.

"I could have handled him."

"I didn't imply you couldn't."

"Then why did you come back?"

"I wanted you to owe me one." he spat out sardonically.

"There is no need for such tone."

The urge to shout at her was bubbling in his throat. He counted to ten. "I was being a decent human being. We all are. And if you bothered to get to know us, you would have seen that and wouldn't have abandoned us so easily." half of the things he uttered made him feel like a hypocrite but she didn't have to know that.

She clenched her jaw painfully tight and looked at him for what felt like eternity. "If you believe any decision a leader makes is easy, you know nothing of leadership. As for your noble deeds… you can tell me about them next time."

"I don't believe that's gonna happen."

"I know you don't. Now, I must leave before another blizzard hits."

Done with all the Grounder craziness, Bellamy turned and went back to his own.


End file.
